A New Beginning
by fred637
Summary: John is in the supermarket picking out bananas with Mary when he sees him, a tall figure dressed impeccably in a three-piece suit and a boring tie, swinging a tightly furled black umbrella by his side, walking briskly down the center aisle of the store, and heading straight for the fruit and vegetable section.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, or any of it's characters._

* * *

_Listen. What I said before, John, I meant it. I don't have friends. I've just got one._

_Right._

John is in the supermarket picking out bananas with Mary when he sees him, a tall figure dressed impeccably in a three-piece suit and a boring tie, swinging a tightly furled black umbrella by his side, walking briskly down the center aisle of the store, and heading straight for the fruit and vegetable section.

_Did he offer you money to spy on me?_

_Yes._

_Did you take it?_

_No._

_Pity, we could've split the fee. Think it through next time._

John jerks the supermarket trolley from Mary's hands and quickly steers her into the cereal aisle. "John, what—" she says, still holding a bunch of bananas.

He holds a finger to lips and pulls her through the store until they reach the head of the pasta aisle. From there he can see the exit; all he has to do is go down an aisle and he'll escape. He can do this.

As they reach the vermicelli noodles, Mycroft turns the corner in front of them. John wonders if he had them watched from the supermarket security cameras.

"John," Mycroft says pleasantly, as if it hadn't been two and a half years since they had last seen each other, "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Mycroft," says John rather formally, nodding his head. There is a silence in which Mycroft pretends he doesn't know that John was trying to run out of the store to avoid him and nobody mentions Sherlock. John's jacket suddenly seems much too warm, and so he takes it off and folds it over his arm.

"I don't believe we've met," Mary says to Mycroft suddenly, holding out a hand for him to shake, "I'm Mary Morstan, John's—"

"—fiancée, yes" says Mycroft, pointing at her engagement ring and smiling enigmatically. Mycroft doesn't make any attempt to voice any other deductions he may have made, and John is grateful for it. "I am Mycroft Holmes. John and I are old acquaintances."

John closes his eyes for a moment and remembers all of the nights at 221B spent sitting in his chair and listening to Mycroft and Sherlock trade barbs over tea.

"Holmes," says Mary slowly. "Holmes…wasn't that the last name of your old flatmate, John?"

Sherlock used to like to stand by the window and play the violin after Mycroft left, scraping out improvised melodies.

"Yeah, this is his brother," says John. He glances at Mycroft, whose blandly pleasant expression sharpened slightly as Mary asked about Sherlock. John can practically see the gears whirring in Mycroft's brain.

"Well, John, how have you been?" says Mycroft after a few moments, now looking slightly amused. He's deduced rather a lot, then. Mycroft's expression is so nostalgically familiar that it annoys John to no end.

"Fine," he says shortly. Mary inconspicuously nudges him in the ribs, and it hurts. "And you?" he adds.

Mycroft leans on his umbrella. "I've been keeping well. And Mrs. Hudson? Do you see her regularly?"

John is positive Mycroft already knows the answer. "Occasionally."

Mrs. Hudson and John don't talk about Sherlock anymore, although she has kept his skull and has set it on top of the refrigerator in her kitchen. It stares at John when he eats dinner with her.

"Have you had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Hudson?" Mycroft asks Mary. "She used to care for my brother and your fiancée when they lived on Baker Street."

_Mrs. Hudson, leave Baker Street? England would fall!_

"No, not yet," says Mary. "But we've invited her to the wedding."

"Ah, I'm sure she'll enjoy that," says Mycroft, smiling. Abruptly, he straightens and nods to Mary. He holds out his hand to John, who shakes it. "Nice to see you again John," he says. "I'm sure we'll see each other again, sooner than you think." And with that, he turns and leaves the store.

Mary looks down at her hands and seems to realize that she is still holding the bananas. Absently, she turns and places them on a shelf next to a box of pasta. "What an odd man," she says to John. "He didn't even buy anything."

Mary leads John back to the fruit and vegetable section, where their trolley is waiting. "Oh," she says. "I shouldn't have left the bananas. They were the only good ones." John sets off to retrieve them, pulling his jacket back on as he goes.

He tries to puzzle out Mycroft's motives for coming to find him; even after two and a half years he can still remember all too well that Mycroft always has a hidden agenda. John's mind draws a blank: he can think of nothing that would possibly cause Mycroft to search him out in a supermarket.

And what to make of the questions Mycroft had asked? It was as if Mycroft had simply wished to check up on him. _And Mrs. Hudson? Well, John, how have you been?_ John snorts, but it isn't really funny.

John walks down the pasta aisle. He wishes he hadn't seen Mycroft. Meeting Mary, an American who had never heard of Sherlock or the controversy surrounding his death, had been the start of his second life, his chance to forget about stupid, idiotic, _moronic_ Sherlock Holmes—who got himself killed, and left John all alone not to live, but to simply _exist_ with no purpose—and move on, and Mycroft is simply a reminder of what once was, and what will never be again.

_Just once, can you two behave like grown-ups?_

_We solve crimes. I blog about it, and he forgets his pants. I wouldn't hold out too much hope._

John feels a prickle. He looks up, through the large plate-glass window of the store, and there is a small pinpoint of warm light. Mycroft is standing outside in the dark, smoking a cigarette and staring at him. _I'm sure we'll see each other again, sooner than you think_.

John stares back at him. Mycroft looks down for a moment, then his face is illuminated by the blueish glow from a mobile phone. He's texting someone. John momentarily wonders whom it might be, before firmly reminding himself that that life is over, and that he shouldn't care. And yet it is several more seconds before he picks up the bananas, turns around, and goes to find Mary.

_When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield. You're not haunted by the war. You miss it._

* * *

_Authors Note: I hope you enjoyed the story. I am seriously considering turning this fic into a series, which would eventually be Sherlock/John. If you're interested, just review or send me a message to let me know! _

_My eternal gratitude to the lovely Kiana ( ) for betaing. You are awesome. Seriously._

_Please review, but be kind with the criticism. Thanks for reading!_

_EDIT: I will continue the story! However, the series will end when Sherlock returns. Sherlock will only make a brief appearance at the end of this fic, whenever that may be._


	2. Chapter 2

The wedding ceremony goes by remarkably quickly. John feels as if he has just managed to appreciate how beautiful Mary looks in her gown when he is asked to kiss the bride. He doesn't even seem to remember saying "I do," but he supposes there is nothing he can do about that, and anyway, he remembers Mary saying, "I do," and that's all that matters. The walk down the aisle seems shorter on the way out, and the glare off the car windshield hurts his eyes as they are waved off down the steps of the church. John tries to smile properly, but all he can manage is a sort of grimace. It is only when they settle into the car that he manages to relax, loosening his tie and resting his head back against the leather seat.

And then Mary smiles at him and twines her fingers around his, and it's not so bad, this, being married, so he can't help but smile back.

* * *

"Lovely reception," says Mycroft, kissing Mary on the cheek and holding out a hand for John to shake. John doesn't take it.

"What are you doing here?" he asks Mycroft, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice.

Mycroft smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "I am merely here to express my happ—"

At that, John grabs Mycroft's upper arm and drags him into a corner of the room. Mary—bless her, John thinks—stays where she is and continues thanking the guests, although she keeps glancing over the shoulders of the guests to where John and Mycroft stand.

"What do you want, Mycroft?" John demands, his voice rising. A few people turn and stare, and he stares back until they look away. He begins to whisper. "I don't need this—I am _sick_ of this, you're just like Sherlock, no concept of privacy, ruining my dates, hacking into my emails—" John's voice cracks. He stops and looks at the ground, unable to look at Mycroft.

And then, as Mycroft watches, John misses Sherlock so fiercely that it feels as if he was punched in the gut. He swallows and glances back at Mary, who is hugging an old woman who looks vaguely familiar.

"Look," says John, "just…please, Mycroft. I don't need any more reminders, all right? I don't know why you've been following me, I don't know _what_ I've done that made you pop up so suddenly, because, in all honesty, I have lived a completely uneventful life since Sherlock died."

John waits, but Mycroft says nothing.

"And you're just dredging up memories that, quite frankly, I would prefer to forget," adds John. There is a long silence, in which Mycroft simply surveys John with his patented pleasant expression plastered on his face. John wants to slap it off. Finally, Mycroft looks away, over John's head, to the refreshments table. He purses his lips, and then looks back to John.

"John," says Mycroft, "maybe you should ask yourself _why_ you want to forget those memories." And with that, he leaves John in the corner and head's towards the desert table. John has a childish impulse to scream obscenities after him, but settles for muttering under his breath as he heads back to Mary. "Arrogant, self-righteous _wanker_," he says to himself. "Jumped up tosser."

"Are you okay?" murmurs Mary to him as he takes his place beside her.

"Fine," he says, shaking Mary's cousin's husband's hand. "Fine," he repeats when they have a moment alone.

"Why does that man bother you so much? I mean yes, he is a bit odd..."

John glances at the deserts table, where Mycroft is sampling a frosted pastry. He laughs humorlessly, and says, "'A bit' doesn't seem to cover it, somehow."

"...but he seems harmless," finishes Mary, looking at him worriedly.

John steps back and takes a good, hard look at Mary. She is beautiful, absolutely breathtaking. A band he's forgotten the name of plays on a stage in the corner of the wood-paneled reception hall, people are milling about eating finger foods and trying to find empty tables to set down their wine glasses, others are dancing on the dance floor. A few kids, Mary's neices and nephews (good God, he supposes he's Uncle John now), run about.

"He's not important," says John firmly. "Shall we dance, do you think?"

* * *

_Author's Note: I've decided to continue the series! However, Sherlock will only be making a brief appearance, at the very very end of the series, whenever that will be. Sorry! _

_The fic will end right as Sherlock returns. I don't know how long it will be, because I have no solid plot or idea of how I'll get from this point in the fic to Sherlock's return at the end. If you have any suggestions, please let me know! I hope you enjoy the chapter, and please review! Criticism is appreciated, but please be kind._


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